Partners?
by Krisavengergurl
Summary: (CA:TWS spoilers!)Agent Allison Marnet used to live a normal SHIELD agents' life. That was, until, of course, someone had to come and screw it all up for her. Bucky Barnes is her new partner, like it or not. She has to teach him to become a SHIELD agent. Will she start to come to terms with Bucky? Will the two agents learn to work together at all? Read to find out!(Bad Summary!)
1. The assignment

Hey guys! What's up? So I decided to do a Captain America fanfiction! Yay! Of course, it's an OC, because I love OC's! Bucky will be the other main character in the story as of right now, because I really love his character and I wanted to write about him. As for pairings, I'm not going to say!

So yeah, this is my first Captain America fanfiction, so please leave me a review or PM me and let me know what you thought! Thanks a million! :)

Disclaimer: I own nothing except the story itself and my OC.

I waited patiently in the Director's office, playing with my hands and twisting my ankles nervously. Fury never called anyone into his office unless something horrible had happened, or unless you had done something very wrong in my experience. The latter didn't really apply to me, at least as far as I knew. The first could be a possibility though. You never knew with Fury.

I checked my watch for the umpteenth time it seemed like; the face read 12:47 PM. I was called to his office at about 12:00. What was taking so long?

The lack of contact at all was making me extremely nervous. Usually they would have told me I would need to wait for a few minutes before I could see the Director. This time, however, they said nothing. No one even came in to see if I was still sitting in the chair I'd been directed to sit in over forty-five minutes earlier. This must have been _really_ bad.

I zipped open my go bag, searching for my pocket mirror. I might as well check my makeup while I waited, right? I almost never had the bag with me, it stayed in a corner in my office, but because of the urgency of the call, I decided to take it. Last time I was called with such urgency, I was told to leave immediately to Paris, the place where I stayed undercover for over eight months. A solo mission. It was one if the worst experiences of my life.

After digging for a good minute, I finally found the plastic square. Pulling it out, I flipped it open. I sighed a breath of relief when I saw my light brown curls had stayed in place. It was windy at six when I arrived at base, and I was worried they might have lost their volume in six hours, but they were as curly as ever. My eyes were a light blue grey, a very pretty color in my opinion, and they contrasted my not overly pale skin beautifully. My makeup was not smudged. My smokey eyeshadow, light red lipstick, and even mascara, unbelievably, were all in place and in order.

I sighed as I zipped my bag back up. I was beginning to be bored and nervous; not a very good combination. It made me antsy and even more nerve-racked. I tried to relax by studying his office, even though nothing in his office was exactly what I would define as relaxing.

Almost every part of his office was a midnight black or dark grey, including the walls. His desk was black metal, not wood like a traditional desk. Actually, the only part of his office that wasn't black or grey were the files on his desk; for the most part they were tan, even though some held a grey tint. His chair was hulking and black. The shelves, screens, computers, all held the grey SHIELD symbol which I knew well, and otherwise were encased in black. Even the lights in the room seemed dark, and they didn't have a point of origin, making the place even more creepy. It wasn't the most welcoming place to be certain, but Fury didn't intend it to be. It almost reflected him.

I was studying his the front part of his desk intently, searching for any imperfections, (which never appeared, not even finger prints) when I heard the large metal door open behind me. I stood immediately, clasping my hands behind my back. A moment later, Fury walked through, in his classic black coat and black SHIELD dress underneath, matching the black eyepatch.

"Agent Marnet. Congratulations on your latest assignment." Fury said as he shook my hand. He almost never gave compliments or congratulations for that matter. Something really bad must have happened.

"Thank you Director." I responded respectfully. Truly, that was the biggest compliment I'd ever received from him, and as far as I knew, we were always on good terms from the beginning.

I waited until he sat in his large chair to seat myself. I was only respectful, and right now, I was guessing I should give as much respect as humanly possible. I sat only a few feet away from him, but I could still feel the power of his steely gaze as I sat in the same chair I'd waited in. I looked up to see him staring; not angrily, not in a threatening manor, but almost like he was studying me, trying to find information on something I didn't know about. Still, he wore the same expression as ever, not letting me know anything else about what his intentions were.

"Agent, how much do you know about the Winter Soldier?" He asked as he started searching for a file somewhere on his desk. This was odd, usually he didn't start out with a question. Usually it was a command, a demand for a report, a shout fest for something or the other, anything besides what he was doing right now.

I cleared my throat a bit nervously. "Well, I know that most of the intelligence community, including SHIELD, doesn't believe he exists. He's a shadow, never to have been caught, or even definably seen. The few who do claim to have seen him always contribute some kind of injury to the claim, suggesting he's violent in nature, and almost never fails in assassinating his target. We do not know, to the best of my knowledge, his whereabouts, targets, motivator, or motives." I finished.

"You seem to have a profound knowledge of him. Did you study him in the academy?" Fury asked, pulling a file from the bottom of a stack. He must have practiced that, because the files above didn't move an inch as he did so.

"Agents Barton and Romanov Sir." I responded. He knew exactly what I meant when I said that. He nodded slightly as he turned the folder towards him.

Covering it with his arms, he leaned forward towards me. "And what about you, Agent Marnet? What do you believe?" He inquired.

I thought for a moment before answering. I knew people on a very personal level that had been attacked by him, left with scars of the past. I knew that one in particular would not lie to me about it. So I chose my answer carefully.

"I believe there is substantial evidence that the Winter Soldier does not exist. The lack of contact, sightings, and other forensic evidence. That being said, I also believe there is a balancing amount of information confirming his existence. Scars on agents, stories from the most reliable of agents that always match up with the accounts of others, the fact that he hasn't been able to be caught, and the destruction he can cause without being spotted all match with his description.

"To answer your question directly, I can't say exactly. Some of the agents I know believe in him very strongly, while other agents say that he does not. I personally have not encountered him, so truthfully, I can't say wether or not I believe in him."

It really was the most straight forward answer I could give. I did believe, but I didn't. It was hard to express, even if I had pondered about it in length before.

Fury said nothing for a moment before leaning back. Then he turned the file towards me and slid it forward. The name under the code number was James Buchanan Barnes. I looked to Fury questioningly. He inclined his head slightly, indicating that I should open the folder.

I'd heard about James Barnes before, not only in history textbooks, but also from the SHIELD academy. He was the only Commando to fight with Captain America and actually give his life for the country. For years it was believed that the Captain also gave his life for America, but only a few years back, SHIELD found him frozen in the ice, still alive.

He looked quite similar to the drawings in the textbooks, but even the black and white photos of the mid 1900's depicted him better. He was handsome and strong, fully geared and standing next to Captain America, James's arm slung around his war partner's shoulders. The picture was clipped above documents.

Hundreds of them, I realized as I thumbed through the pages. Anything from his army record, background information, application to the army, mission records, and even cause of death, told by Captain America himself. The file was probably bigger than your average paperback. I flipped through each page, reading bits and pieces. It would take anyone at least a few days to read the entire thing.

I flipped the file closed and set it back onto the desk. "I'm sorry Sir. I don't understand what you want me to gather from this."

Fury pulled the file back to him. "I don't expect you to. At least not yet, Agent Marnet. But I do expect this much from you. Listen to everything I say very carefully. It won't make much sense in the beggining, but you're smart, and you're one of my top agents. You should be able to figure out what I'm trying to tell you."

I knew asking questions this early would do me know good. Even though I was bursting out the seems with questions, they would have to wait. "Of course Sir. I'll try as best as I can to understand."

"James Buchanan Barnes is not dead. In fact, he's very much alive. We all believed, for a time, he wasn't. We had every reason to believe in his death. He fell hundreds of stories off of a moving train to the ground with nothing to slow him down. Every piece of evidence we owned said he should be and was dead, including the statement from Steve Rogers.

"As it turned out, we were all wrong. He was captured by a man by the name of Arnim Zola. You probably know him as one of the founders of the Red Skull, or HYDRA. James was nearly dead at the time he was found by Zola, and ended up loosing his arm in the fall. But still, he survived being dragged through the snow countless miles until they reached the first HYDRA base.

"By the time they arrived, James had lost over two pints of blood. He was almost unconscious and delusional from the cold of the snow, the shock of falling, and blood loss. We're not sure what their initial plan for him was, but we assume they would try and extract information about the U.S. plans for the war. What we do know is what happened after he was brought to the HYDRA base.

"He was brainwashed by way of electrical impulses being shot through his brain over and over. We aren't sure how many times it happened, or all the memories he lost or were altered. We do know that his brain, for the time, was re-wrote, wired so he would obey every beck and call of HYDRA. They even gave him a metal arm to replace the one he lost.

"He became a master assassin. One of the best the world has ever known. He killed people, we estimate over one thousand, in any way needed or possible to fill the needs of HYDRA. James Barnes became one of HYDRA's top agents.

"He did all of it without his own brain. He wasn't control of his own actions. James did it as a shell of himself. Whenever they suspected he was remembering things they wanted him to forget, they brainwashed him again.

"He became known widely as the Winter Soldier; like you said, a ghost who never aged and never stopped killing. We suspect when he was captured by HYDRA the first time he was given a serum close to that of Captain America, making him youthful for the rest of his life."

At this point Fury slid forward a picture of the Winter Soldier. He had on a mask and goggles, all of which looked menacing. His hair had grown out to his shoulders, and his left arm was made of silver metal with a red star on the shoulder. He didn't look anything like James did.

"He somehow always managed to stay off of our radar, and kill hundreds of our agents without being detected, until the fight this spring. The uprising of HYDRA. I know you were a part of it, fighting with and for SHIELD. You know most of the details, but I'll review.

"The Winter Soldier was sent to kill Captain America who had lied on my orders about my death to one of the leaders of HYDRA. Not only did he almost complete his job, but he almost managed to kill Romanov and the Falcon as well. Rogers didn't know he was his old friend until he took off his mask. From that point on Rogers tried to re-write his memories, tried to spark Barnes's memory.

"Turns out his work wasn't in vain. He was brainwashed again the first time he started to remember Rogers, but the second time, as they were fighting in the Helicarrier, James did start to remember. When Cap was thrown into the water and almost drowned to death, James jumped after him and saved him, pulling him onto the shore. From that time on Cap had been searching for his friend, now with the knowledge that his memory could be sparked again.

"Until recently, Barnes was on the run and untraceable. After two months of diligent searching, Barnes was found on the streets of New York, not threatening anyone, just very confused. He didn't even put up a fight when we loaded him into a SHIELD escort.

"We took him back here, and started his therapy with Rogers to support him. We used various forms of memory recovery, and in the end, we were been able to restore the better part of his brain and his memory, all without harming him in any way possible. Given it took almost a year; but still, the SHIELD doctors should be proud of themselves.

"For the past few weeks, we've been re-introducing him to the modern world. It's the first time he's been there since he wasn't in control of his brain. Four days ago, he asked if he could become an agent like Rogers. We screened him in any and every way possible. He even passed the better part of his psych screening, which was our primary concern. We decided to let him become an agent, especially because of his training." Fury finally stopped.

I was in shock, to say the very least. James Barnes, the Winter Soldier? That couldn't be possible. But everything that Fury said made sense, it just didn't comprehend in my mind. I tried to sort out my thoughts. Over and over. After a few minutes I was able to speak.

"That's a...shocking and astounding story to say the very least, but I'm sorry Sir, I don't understand what all of this has to do with me." I replied.

"Agent Marnet you know you are one of the very best I have, even if you're younger than almost all of the rest of our agents." Fury said as he buried the file once again.

"Yes Sir I do." It was the truth. I wasn't being vain or self centered, but it was true. I was in the standings of the best. I'd completed my training entirely by the age of 17, and over my six years of work, I'd seen, done, and accomplished more than agents with decades more experience than I did. I was trained by the best, and in result became the best.

"Agent, I want you stabilize him." Fury responded.

"I'm sorry?" I said.

"I want you to become his partner. You were suggested to me by many people for the job, including Barton and Romanov, and not only for the reasons you think. You do have a calming effect on people when you aren't in action. You fight well, and both of your styles compliment each other. You're younger than all of our agents, so you would be the best to bring him back into the world. Not to mention I know I can trust you with not only this assignment, but with anything I need you to do." Fury explained.

"So you want me to become his partner? A man I know nothing about?" I asked. Fury nodded.

"What about Agent Barton?" I questioned. He was not only my SO, but my partner. We had more trust in each other than anyone else in SHIELD, besides him and Natasha, who partnered with us when she wasn't with Rogers. He was my best friend.

"You'll still be his partner. You'll just be taking a leave from him for a while. While you're gone, he will partner with Agent Romanov."

I nodded as I tried to process everything that was happening. This was all so sudden and unexpected. I thought I was coming to his office for a mission or even a lecture or scolding, instead I came for an assignment.

"When do we start together?" I asked. I hoped I would have at least a little bit of an adjustment period to try and process everything running wild in my mind. But, of course, Fury didn't think like I did.

"As of right now." Fury stood as the door opened again. Who could possibly be coming in now?

If Fury stood, that obviously meant I needed to. I stood and turned, facing the door, to see the man we were talking about. Here he was. James Barnes in the flesh, a living legend.

He was taller than I expected, but just as muscular and stocky as I thought he would be. His dark brown hair was cut short, just like it was in World War Two, not long as it was when he was the Winter Soldier. He wore all black, not SHIELD gear as far as I could tell. His sleeves were short, so his metal arm was on full display. The red star on his shoulder was gone, but other than that everything looked the same. His eyes were a beautiful blue, not exactly the same color as mine, but close. His skin was pale, although not as pale as mine. Instead of bruised skin which I expected to see, his skin was clear and unblemished by bruises or even scars.

As I looked him over again, I could tell something was wrong. Maybe it was how distant his eyes looked. Maybe it was his posture; straight back, but his shoulders were very very slightly bent forward, as if he was exhausted. Or maybe it was even the look of hardly masked pain on his face that made him seem wrong. Whatever it was, something had happened to this man. This was not James Barnes, and this was not the Winter Soldier. This was a combination of the both.

He walked towards me and I walked away from the chair. He held out his non mechanical arm and I did the same as him.

"James Barnes ma'am. I've heard good things about you." He shook my hand firmly, but not to tight. His hand was warm and soft, which varied from his voice, which was almost like a recording, not exactly spot on. It wasn't cold, but it wasn't welcoming either. I tried not to think about the fact that he shot one of my best friends, albeit she didn't die.

"Agent Allison Marnet. Same to you. Thank you so much for your service." I responded.

It wasn't entirely a lie. I'd heard the great things that he had done with his time as a teen living in the World War 2 era. He'd saved the lives of hundreds of fellow soldiers, quite frankly saved the world, and even stood up for Steve Rogers when he was bullied, no matter what their age.

But the Winter Soldier, that was a different story. He did the exact opposite of that; caused havoc and did HYDRA's dirty work for them. Killed hundreds of SHIELD officers and even innocent civilians. It was ironic, actually, how much difference there was within in the same person.

Right then, I couldn't tell who he was. Winter Soldier, or James Barnes? I knew who I wanted him to be, but I rarely got what I wanted. The question wasn't really even who did HE want to be; it was who is he? Has he changed? Or is he just a shell of his former self? I couldn't tell. I was guessing that it would take more than a handshake to find out.

With all of that being said, he still seemed to be polite and respectful, just like I would have expected a 1940's gentleman to be. I though he would have been changed by time, by killing hundreds, by being in the 21st century. But I was wrong about that much. I guessed now that his brain was still thinking of how things were back in the days, especially because he didn't have his own thoughts for the past few decades. What I didn't know was if those were the only thoughts in his head.

Fury gestured for us to sit in our seats. I sat in the one I had earlier, while James sat in the one right next to mine. He walked stiffly, not to stiffly, but enough for me to notice. This was just starting to get weird.

"The mission is based in Rio de Janeiro. A SHIELD agent by the name of Polo Davis. there went AWOL about a week ago. The only contact we've had from him was a HYDRA encoded signal, so we have reason to believe that he works for HYDRA. As of now, we're trying to pinpoint his exact location. We should have his location within three days, judging by the time he sent the first signal. There wouldn't be any use for either of you if we didn't know where he was, so we decided to give you both two days to learn to work together and sort out any other issues this may bring up. Your plane leaves at 2:30 AM this Wednesday. The jet will be on loading dock S7. Be there. Dismissed." Fury said, looking down to another file on his desk, obviously saying it was time to go.

I did so without hesitation, as did James, both of us standing and heading out the door as soon as possible. He opened the door awkwardly for me, let me walk through, then let the door fall shut. It wasn't exactly smooth, but it was nice anyway. We stood outside his door silently and stiffly for a while before James started talking.

"Would you want to meet me at gym A at 6:00? We do need to get to know each other you know." He asked in a straightforward tone. Once again, he didn't sound hostile or angry just...off.

Clint and I had done this before. A getting to know you session. We had also done it at a gym, I guess that's just how we SHIELD agents got to know each other; through smacking down in a boxing ring. But that was my style anyway. I loved fighting, running, anything that involved using your body really. I just hoped that he wouldn't hit me with his metal arm to hard.

"Yeah, of course. Sounds like fun. See you then, partner." I replied. I was partially lying, it did not sound like a whole lot of fun. It sounded very awkward actually, just as awkward as it was now that I was walking away. But I did want to see his skill set and how it worked with mine.

I walked down the hallway smoothly, knowing exactly where I needed to go right now. The place I could always go when something crazy happened like this. Whenever I needed to talk, spar, or even needed a shoulder to cry on, I could always go there. And that's exactly where I planned to go.

/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-

The room was dark, completely dark, except for a single light on the other side of the long room. It illuminated some of the scene in front of me, but not all of it. It was a gym that normally wasn't used; in fact, the only ones that had used it any time within the past nine years was myself, Clint, or Natasha. It was clean, with nothing out of place, nothing moving, and not a sound echoed throughout the room. Even still I knew where he would be.

I quickly chalked up my hands before wrapping them around the thick rope, and pulling up. My legs twisted around the tough twine as I used my upper, mid, and lower body to hoist myself up the rope. If I hadn't done this my fair share of times, I would have been scared out of my mind. I was terrified of heights when I first came to SHIELD. But after years and years of having to deal with heights and falling, I adjusted to it.

I climbed for another two or three minutes before reaching my destination right by the ceiling. It was a large mesh of nets and ropes, not solid, but nothing could fall through it. There sat the shadow I wanted to see.

"Hey Clint." I huffed as I pulled myself onto the net, which swayed slightly as I put my weight on it.

He looked to me, up from his file while dropping his pen. I knew him well enough to know that if he ever had a choice, he'd rather be in the air or on the ground. Even if he was doing paperwork, which as of right now, it seemed like he was.

"Hey Ali." He greeted, clearing off a space next to him for me. I crawled over carefully, making sure not to look down. It was true that I'd adjusted to heights, but that didn't mean I liked them.

"Jeez Clint, there's one light on in this entire gym and your doing paperwork? How can you see?" I joked around. I already knew what he was going to respond with.

"I have hawk eyes, remember?" He responded playfully. I sighed as I settled in next to him. He could already tell something was wrong, I could tell by the change in his posture. I didn't even have to see his face in the dark. "What's going on?" He asked.

I looked at my hands as I answered him. I was a little bit embarrassed telling him this, especially because he was one of the people that recommended me for the job. "Fury called me down to his office today." I told him.

"And?" He asked. He put his work down entirely, focusing all of his energy on me. That was one of the reasons I would always go to Clint; he truly cared about me and wanted to know what was going on with me.

"It's...different to say the least." Since he was the one that suggested me in the first place, I knew he knew what I was talking about. I didn't have to elaborate.

"Different? In what way?" He pressed.

"Different in the way that that's the guy I studied in history all the way up to college. Heck I even did a report on him! We all thought he was dead for however many years it took, and then we come to find out that he's the Winter Soldier, HYDRA's top agent. He _shot_ Nat, Clint. _Shot_ her, one of my best friends. Then Captain America finds him again, then they brainwash him back to normal, and I'm partnered up with him.

"Truth be told, I don't even think he's normal. Something's off about him. You always told me from the beginning to trust my gut instinct, and right now it's saying something's not right. I don't know if it's just a side effect of the memory process or what, but he isn't acting like a normal person would be.

"He's from a different time period, I understand that. But I still don't know anything about him and he doesn't know anything about me. We're going on a mission in two days Clint. Usually agents train together for months before going on missions. What am I going to do? This is just all so...ugh." I groaned.

Clint knew how stressed I was at the moment. He wrapped an arm around my shoulders comfortingly, then started to slowly massage my injured right shoulder. It hurt still to this day, and practically only Clint knew it.

"I know it's confusing and crazy. It doesn't make any sense. He should, by all accounts, be dead by now. But he isn't. And yes, he's from another time period. One of the reasons Fury put you on the assignment was because he knew you could introduce him into the world from the eyes of a young agent.

"Yes, he shot one of your best friends, someone on the same team as you, but you have to remember that he didn't have control of himself. His actions were controlled by someone else, not him. We should just be thankful that we have him on our side now, that we don't have to worry about that happening again.

"As for your gut instinct; trust it. That is one of the most valuable senses an agent has. If you think something's wrong with him, then confront Fury. I would suggest you at least try and give him a chance before talking to Fury though. But always, always, trust your gut first. I'm serious about that.

"No one said being his partner would be an easy thing. I'm not going to lie to you; it'll be hard. Harder than you want it to be. But here's the thing; doing hard things makes you a better person. Makes you better agent. And not only that, but through you, someone else is going to have the chance to become great like you. You'll do great Ali, and I promise, if you just give him some time and some faith, you'll get along great." Clint reassured me. I hoped that everything he said was true. He was more experienced than me, and I knew he'd seen more agents come through SHIELD than I had, so I assumed everything he said was accurate. He was practically almost right as far as I was concerned.

"Are you sure I'm ready for this Clint?" I asked after a few seconds of silence. He tightened his arm around me, then tilted my chin so I was looking at him.

"Are you?" He looked me in the eyes. He always asked me that, ever since the first day I'd known them. He knew I knew my full potential, sometimes I just needed to be reminded of it.

"Yes. Yes, I am. I can do it." I responded after thinking for a moment. I could see him smiling even in the dark.

"That's what I thought. That's what I knew. You'll do just fine Ali, and if you ever need me, I'm always just a phone call away, or even an office away. Okay?"

I smiled back at him. "Okay."

He kept his arm around me and picked up his file again, starting to fill out the work. We sat in comfortable silence without either of us saying a word. In fact, the only sound in the room was me eating his sandwich and the pen scribbling on the paper. He was so engrossed in his work, he didn't even notice I was eating his food. He didn't complain; we'd shared food hundreds of times before, he just grabbed my hand, turned the sandwich his direction, and took a bite.

We finished off the rest of the food he had before I checked my watch. 1:54. What was I going to do with myself for the next four hours? I truly had nothing to do, especially because all of my previous cases were now off of the table. I glanced over to Clint and his stack of paperwork. Might as well.

I grabbed a good chunk off of the stack, made sure I'd been there for all the missions, then started the worst part of being a SHIELD agent in my opinion. I knew Clint and Natasha would agree, even though some people at SHIELD actually chose to do paperwork all day long for FUN. I couldn't fathom it. Being a field agent was my life.

"You could work on your own paperwork you know. I can handle this." He said as he tossed me a pen instead of the pencil which I found on the net.

"I don't have any work to do now, remember? I have new missions now. But then I'll definitely have paperwork. Besides, I have a date at 6:00 and I have absolutely nothing to do until then." I murmured as I looked over a report.

"A date?" Clint instantly kicked into protective mode. "Date with who?" I couldn't tell if he was more astounded, protective, or angry at the moment.

"No, no Clint. Not _that_ kind of date. Date as in a time and a place I have to meet someone. My partner, to be precise. We're going to try and get to know each other in two days. I don't see how that's going to work." I scoffed. "To be fair to us, if we get killed over there, it's because of our lack of training together." I said almost to myself.

"You won't get killed. You're stronger and more experienced than that, no matter how short you are." He said affectionately as he patted my shoulder.

I punched him, albeit playfully, because of his earlier comment. I was very short, especially for my age; just a little over 5'3. But what I lacked in height I made up on strength. You couldn't tell at first glance, but I was stronger than almost every agent I'd ever faced; the exceptions being Clint and Natasha, although I was almost as strong as them now.

"Truly I'm just glad you aren't going on a date. I don't really want to kill someone this early in your career."

I laughed at his comment. He and I both knew how much he would love to kill the first guy that tried to do something he wasn't supposed to with me. As if I wouldn't kill him first. Clint would be second in line though.

We worked on files for the next three and a half hours in total silence. It was boring to say the least, but I was helping out a friend. No matter how boring and/or stupid the task was, friends helped each other. Besides, I would have been even more bored just sitting and waiting for my 6:00 gym session to start. There was no way I would go early to the appointment either.

I told Clint I needed to go and change into my gym clothes. Of course I could wear the SHIELD gear I was currently adorning; it was comfortable and meant for action, but I always preferred workout clothes for a workout. He nodded his consent as I stacked all his files back in place. We hugged and I started back down the rope carefully. At least going up was worse than going down.

As soon as I hit the ground I started to my office. Luckily it wasn't too far away from the gym, so I arrived in about five minutes. If I was running I could have made it in two.

My office was nice, or at least in my opinion. The walls were light grey, just like the rest of the building. Unlike Fury though, I'd added a bit of color in my office. The desk was made of oak, and the one shelf I had was made from the same wood. Warm lights shone down from the ceiling and through the window that was usually open. It wasn't big, but it wasn't small, and it was absolutely bigger than a normals persons office. Little colorful sticky notes and trinkets were scattered around the walls and desk. It was actually a nice little space, even though I was out in the field to much to really notice. I became to antsy if I had to sit for long periods of time.

I grabbed my workout clothes from my go bag, which consisted of tight running pants and a bright green athletic shirt. I swiftly changed from my catsuit into them. I glanced to the body length mirror on the southernmost wall. _Bye bye hair_ I said to myself as I started to braid it down my back. The tip of the braid reached over three fourths of the way down my back. I secured it off with a hairband, grabbed a water bottle off of my desk, and set off for the gym.

I was nervous to say the least. However casual this may have seemed, it was critical in our relationship. We needed to get off on the right foot the first time, considering our first mission together was only days away. I was to the most optimistic person, but even still I hoped this exercise wasn't going to be awkward. The back of my mind reminded me that wether or not I wanted it to be, it was going to be. That's just how things worked when you didn't know people.

I walked in silence, wiping my sweaty hands on my pants. I had no reason to be so anxious. So why was I? The man was the Winter Soldier and all, but that was in the past. No longer. My mind was probably being defensive of my body , trying to reason with me that he could snap me like a twig it he really wanted to. The other half of me tried to reason that he had changed, and he wouldn't hurt me or anyone else at SHIELD. I just didn't know what to believe.

I sighed as I reached gym A. I took a steadying breath and gave myself a mental pep talk before reaching into my pocket and pulling out my keycard. I pushed the front of it to the center. The door unlocked as the light above the door turned green. I grabbed the door handle, twisted, and pulled back. Here we go.

So? What did you think? Any questions? Please let me know! Leave me a review or PM me!

Also this was kind of just an introducing chapter, so I'm sorry if it was a bit boring. But bear with me! I promise it'll pick up soon!

Anyway, I love you all! Hope you have a great day! Don't let anyone change who you are! :)

Krisavengergurl


	2. Training

**Hey all! First I would like to say thank you thank you thank you for everyone who read, reviewed, favorited, or followed! You guys are the best! I love you all and I hope you're enjoying my story so far! I've enjoyed writing it!**

**Second, sorry for the delay in this chapter! It took a while to revise it, and even then I don't think this is my best piece of work. I'll probably fix it up again later. But for right now just bear with me!**

**Third, I apologize in advance for the length of this chapter! I didn't really want to split it into two parts so I just put it all down in a single chapter!**

**Fourth, if anyone out there likes the Avengers, I'd really appreciate it if you'd check out my fanfiction Saved. I'm almost done with that story and I'll be writing the sequel soon!**

**Fifth, to heartdraconis19361, thank you for being my first reviewer! And I'll see what I can do! :)**

**Second to last, coyote-water, thanks so much for the review and the the thoughts! I tried to keep them in mind as I wrote this chapter! **

**Alright, I won't keep you guys any longer! Go ahead and read on! Hopefully you'll like it! :) **

**Disclaimer: I only own the story itself and my OC**.

I poked my head through the gap the door hand created. I didn't know what I expected to see; a four headed demon or a gigantic spider, but the scene I did see was completely normal. Agents were training everywhere. Some were brand new, just about my age now, and learning how to correctly punch or kick. Some were older more experienced agents, just fighting to blow off some steam. Others were lifting weights, while some ran around the entire gym on the jogging path. Unlike the rest of SHIELD, this room was white, just like all of the gym's were. I knew this place better than most everyone here; this is where I'd started out.

He didn't exactly elaborate where we were going to meet, but I knew he'd be somewhere in there. He shouldn't be that hard to find either, especially because of his metal arm. I assumed for some reason that he'd be over by the punching bags, I wasn't really sure why, but it was as good a start as any.

I was a spy, and I had been trained for years at a time how to spot people in a crowd, or even just spot people in general. So I didn't surprise myself when within the first minute of looking, I found him right where I thought he'd be. Hitting a punching bag to his heart's desire. I started to walk towards him.

As I came closer to him, I saw how muscular he really was. He was wearing a cut off muscle shirt, showing off not only his toned arm, but also his solid torso. I had to remind myself that this man was my partner. He wasn't eye candy. But it couldn't hurt to look, right? No, I though to myself, it couldn't hurt at all.

I approached him cautiously. He was ripping that bag to shreds. It didn't even look like he was breaking a sweat. I didn't really want to disturb him, but for the sake of the bag and my own, I decided to.

I cleared my throat from behind him. "Um, hey James. I hope I'm not late?" Even though I knew I wasn't, I thought it would be a good thing to say.

It seemed like something snapped inside him when he heard his name. He automatically let his hands drop from their defensive position. James turned to me with a look of adrenaline in his eyes. To me, they still looked distant and not right. I hated it. I didn't know everything they did to him over there, but I did know that he hadn't really recovered from whatever happened. At least for the moment he seemed a little bit better however. It was a start. His hair fell forward slightly, so it partially covered his eyes.

"You aren't. I came early. And Bucky." He added.

"I'm sorry?" I replied. I thought I heard him wrong but I may not have.

"Bucky. My friends call me Bucky. It's short for Buchanan." He explained. I knew a few people that went by their middle names, but this was a first.

I took a seat on a bench near him, resting my feet. "And you consider me a friend?" I asked. At least in my book, you would have to exchange more than a few sentences to become friends.

" 're partners. We need to trust one another, right? Become friends?" He sounded confused. I couldn't really blame him. The poor guy's mind was still in the 1940's, when all you needed was a few sentences to become friends.

"We are partners. We do need to trust each other. But that takes time in my experience. Time that we don't have." I sighed as I tightened one of my tennis shoes.

It was true, I trained with Clint for three years before we went out on our first mission. It took that long to get to know each other and to learn to fight together cooperatively. With only two days to prepare for our first mission, needless to say, I was a bit stressed.

"Then why do you think Fury put us on the assignment?" He inquired as I tightened my other shoe.

I straightened up after a moment of thinking. "He must have thought you were ready for it." I personally didn't know if Bucky was ready for the battlefield only a few months after he was brought back. Of course he had to be assessed and tested, but some part of me said that one of the only reasons they threw him back in so fast was because of his physical skills, not because of his mental stability and soundness.

"Or you." Bucky responded as he offered me his right hand to help me up. I gave him a small smile of thanks as I took it and pulled myself up. It was still awkward,very awkward and almost unnatural feeling, but it was a start. A slow start, but a necessary one.

Even though I knew it couldn't be me, it would have to be him, I could play along with his ideas. After all, he was the one with years and years of experience and unyielding brute strength. All I had was a few years of training, and a skill set. "Maybe. Maybe." I responded.

"Where do you want to start... Allison?" He questioned. I couldn't deny my surprise. He actually remembered my name? From his reports, it took him over a week just to comprehend that his own name was his.

"Ali." I said with a small smile. I kept my eyes glued to the ground. I wasn't a shy person, anything but that actually, I just didn't know if I could stand the look in his eyes any longer without either asking him about it or breaking down.

"Ali?" He asked. Just from his tone of voice I could tell he was smiling. At least I hoped he was.

I glanced up to him to see him...smiling, I guess. It didn't reach his eyes by any matter, not even close. It almost looked like a grimace of pain. Not entirely, but close. I could tell it was one of the few times he'd smiled since he had come back to himself. All that mattered to me was the effort that he put forward, no matter what it looked like.

"Just call me Ali. That's what all my friends call me," What, was he going to make fun of my nickname now? "And what about the bags? That's where we are anyway."

He nodded to me respectfully. Something like relief washed over his face as I made the decision, I noticed. I didn't know why he would be so uncomfortable about making a decision as simple as where to start training, but it really seemed like he was. It seemed like he didn't want anything to do with decision making.

"Okay. Ladies first." He gestured in front of him to the bag. Even though I knew he still wasn't completely right, he had one thing spot on; respect women, especially me. If you didn't, in my case at least, you'd quite literally be dead. I walked around him over to the other side of the bag. I then waited until he was leaning against the bag before I started punching bare knuckle.

Clint and I had actually done the same exercise. It shows the partner how you move, how you block, how you punch and kick, even how you position your feet. All of these things were important for partners to know for many reasons. If you didn't know how your partner fought, you didn't know the first thing about them. That was for sure.

After a few minutes of punching and kicking the bag relentlessly I was breaking a sweat. It was embarrassing to say the least; I always got flushed cheeks and face when I was hot. Not to mention it seemed like I sweated more than any other female agent I'd known. I hated it. But we all had our quirks, and both of us were bound to find them out sooner or later.

Only a few seconds after I thought that, Bucky broke the silence between us. "So what happened there?" He looked pointedly at my right shoulder. The one I had injured a few weeks earlier.

Most of the swelling had already gone down, and so had the bruising. Even I couldn't even see it now, especially because I covered it with make-up each day. If it didn't hurt like the devil with every move I made, I wouldn't have even known I was injured in the first place. I stopped mid punch and glanced down at my shoulder. I couldn't see anything. Then I looked at Bucky. He was studying me curiously, his eyes not as cloudy and distant normal. It was kind of like he was seeing things from a different point of view.

I knew I shouldn't lie to him, and as of right now, we didn't have time to lie to each other. I knew I needed to come out straightforward to him. There was no other choice. I started to punch again.

"Well, I was on a mission with Clint, my SO and old partner. We were in Chicago. It wasn't a particularly hard mission in the first place; stopping a drug dealer who injected himself with things he shouldn't have one to many times. In fact, it was going well until one of his goons grabbed me from behind and caught me off guard. When Clint threatened to kill them if they didn't let me go, one of them pulled back on my arm and snapped a bone and tore major ligaments. Of course, we killed them all after that, but what happened happened and it hurt like none other for a while. It doesn't hurt anymore though." I explained.

"It sure doesn't seem like it isn't bothering you." He said back as I threw another punch with my good arm.

"Why do you say that? And come to think of it, how did you even know I had an injury in the first place?" Really, it was pretty confusing to me. Only Fury and Clint knew I was injured, and only Clint knew it still bothered me.

"By the way you punch," I stopped completely to listen to what he had to say, "You do punch well. Very well actually, like I'd expect a highly trained agent to do. That being said, you punch lighter on your right side, and slightly cringe back when you hit the bag. You also wind up differently. You move your shoulder to the side before punching forward on the right."

I studied him carefully for a moment as he did the same to me. How had he figured all that out? I didn't understand. He was the only one besides Clint who had even noticed. And Clint was practically raised by SHIELD. He'd been trained for decades on how to spot the little things that counted. I hadn't even been training with Bucky for more than ten minutes. He was perceptive and smart to say the least.

"I can see why Fury knew you'd be able to do this assignment," I mumbled finally as I started fighting again, "it's because your a freaking genius. Either that or your a profiler."

That earned me a sort of barking chuckle from Bucky. The moment I heard that my heat sank. That was probably one of the first times he'd laughed in over seventy years. It was because of me.

"Neither. But good try." He said as he took his weight off of the bag. "Time."

I let out a big breath of air and reached behind me for my water bottle. It really wasn't that physical of an exercise, but I was still very thirsty, probably because the only time I'd had water that day was when I ate with Clint. I gulped down a few drinks before capping the bottle and moving to the other side of the bag.

I knew he would hit hard, harder than a normal person would, so I made sure to keep my face off of the bag. I kept my legs spread apart and my hands equally distanced. My core was engaged and more of my weight was on the left side to protect my right shoulder. Clint and I affectionately named this 'the freight train pose.'

"Whenever you're ready." I called to him.

I knew he would hit hard, especially with his metal arm, but I didn't think he'd hit quite _that_ hard. At this point he was hitting about how Clint or Nat would. With his normal arm. When he swung with his other, the force was at least Clint and I combined, or possibly even Clint and Natasha combined. It was one _heck_ of a punch. But because of the freight train pose, I didn't move an inch, and it didn't even really hurt, except for the little burning pain that shot through my shoulder after each punch. It was manageable though.

Making sure not to move from my position on the bag, I peered over the side curiously. I knew I should have been studying his movements closely. I needed to see what kind of a fighter he was, but that could wait. He had ten minutes of punching anyway. Instead I looked to his body, his actual body, and had to stop myself from falling away from my position.

If I thought he was sculpted before, I knew he was now. His mechanical arm was a copy of his human arm; both muscular and impenetrable. Each time he swung, his muscles rolled before straightening out. His chest was tight and muscular as well. Almost like a brick wall. And no matter how much I tried not to look at his abs, I couldn't stop myself. There they were, poking right through his shirt. All six muscles, defined to perfection. I shut my mouth after it opened involuntarily. I wasn't ogling him; I truly wasn't, he was just the specimen of perfect fitness, and even though I didn't think of him like _that_, it was kind of hard not to stare. It was almost hypnotic...

I mentally slapped and then kicked myself when I realized where my train of thought had wandered off to. _Partner_! I told myself strictly. I gave myself a mental lecture about how I should not be looking at him like that at all. I didn't like him in that sense, heck I didn't even really know him. Besides, he was only about 70 years older than I was. And I knew he wasn't looking at me that way when I was up.

I made a mental note to kick myself physically after we were done before looking over the bag again. This time, I looked only at the things I should have been looking at in the first place. Form, movement, fundamentals, anything and everything I would need to know about his fighting style. Fury said his style was different than mine, and there was a good chance that was true.

I fought in a defensive position some of the time; something that Fury had tried countless times to fix with me. Clint and Nat were good with it though, saying if it was comfortable and made the job get done, there wasn't any harm. Still, depending on the situation, sometimes I was an offensive fighter. Usually people favored one technique, defense of offense, but I was one of the rare people that didn't really have a favorite.

Bucky was clearly offensive. Everything about him yelled it. From the look in his eyes, the positioning of his arms over his face, even how he threw his punches. His feet were closer together than a defensive persons' would be; too close for my own comfort zone. He stood straight and tall, unlike a defensive person who would normally bend their knees and back slightly more. He stood on the balls of his feet but didn't move when he punched, whereas a defensive person would move on the balls of their feet regularly. Truly, he was the perfect showman for a stereotype offensive boxing style.

He threw punches hard and true. The entire bag shook and backfired with every hard swing he took. He never missed his target, either. Every time he hit the X in the center of the bag without fail. Even I couldn't do that. The part that made me the most upset was not the fact that he wasn't sweating yet, but the fact that his face didn't turn bright red like mine did when I was hot. I wondered if he even knew that he was working out, because it sure didn't seem like it.

"How many other people know?" He asked as he threw another punch. He momentarily diverted his attention back over to me before punching again.

"Really just you, Fury, and Clint. You and Clint are the only ones who know it still hurts though. As far as Fury knows. It stopped hurting a week ago." I knew exactly what he was talking about when he said that.

"Is there a reason you lied to the Director?" He swung his leg out and hit the bag roughly. I involuntarily cringed and tightened my abs as he did so, forgetting the bag would stop the kick.

"I always have a reason." I said softly as my brain started to wander.

This made him stop completely and look at me. It seemed like that was kind of the way we were getting to know each other; stopping and staring. Not impolitely, more like in a concerned fashion or curiously. I knew this time that he was waiting for an explanation.

"I hate sitting out. Watching the other person do something more than me. Watching someone else become better than me, do my job for me. I hate it. I hate not having a say in what happens in my own life. And I know if I would have told Fury it still hurt, he would have absolutely sat me out until I recovered, regardless of what I wanted.

"Clint isn't like that though." I said fondly as I thought of him. "He doesn't judge. He never has judged me and I don't think he ever will, because that's just who he is. He doesn't tell me what I have to do or when I have to do it or why, he kind of just suggests what I could do and lets me make my own decisions. It's probably one of the reasons I trust him so much. He doesn't try to control me."

I didn't realize I said to much until I said it. I had a bad habit of doing that; speaking then thinking. I just burst out a very personal element of my life to a man I'd known for under 24 hours. Why had I even said that in the first place? I guess he just made the ball roll with the initial unspoken question. I changed my mental note from earlier; kick self in shins not once but twice.

I looked shyly up to Bucky, unsure of what he'd think, what he'd say, how he would judge me. After all, that's all I had known my whole life through. Judging. Instead of a hard and critical face, I saw a soft caring one. One that I wouldn't have expected from him. It almost broke through his mask that I had noticed since the first time I saw him. But not quite. Still, it was one of the greatest things he could have ever given me, and automatically that made me want to do everything in my power to make a relationship between us. He was one of the only people I'd ever met, Winter Soldier or not, that didn't want to place me on the judgment seat. I already loved him for that.

"People, including Fury, should respect your boundaries. Wether or not they like it." Bucky said as he diverted his attention back to the bag and started hitting it.

Those simple words made my respect grow for him immensely. That's exactly how I felt. Those were almost the exact words that always ran throughout my brain. Maybe he was a mind reader too.

"Time." I said after another short stretch of silence. He put his hands to his sides and I relieved myself from the position. I was starting to get a cramp in my leg.

"What about you Bucky? Why don't you tell anyone about your arm? It can't feel good." I questioned as I followed him to where his water sat on the bench. He didn't even glance back at me as he took a drink.

"I mean, it does hurt, doesn't it?" I asked. I noticed how red and swollen the area where his shoulder and arm connected was. I knew it couldn't feel good, but maybe he'd adapted some kind of an immunity to pain. After all the horrible things that were done to him it wouldn't really be a surprise.

"It does." He responded after a pause. His back was still turned to me, so I couldn't read his face. Lucky for me, I was trained to read all body language, not just faces. Clint was a genius for being able to teach me all the things that he did.

"So why don't you say anything? Get one of the SHIELD doctors to help you?" I inquired.

He kept his back turned to me. I could see his back muscles clench under his shirt after I asked the question, telling me he was internally fighting himself on something. He stayed silent for a while before responding to me in once simple sentence that spoke thousands of words to me. "I don't want people to think I'm weak."

It explained his situation very well actually. He was in pain, but he didn't want anyone to know. Not because he didn't want help, but because he wanted to be strong. To fight through it, to be a soldier. He didn't want anyone to see his weaknesses, even those who could help him in a time of need. I was assuming I was probably the first person he'd ever said that to. It took a lot of courage to admit that in the first place. I knew it did.

Come to think of it, when he was the Winter Soldier, he probably would have been hurt each time he showed weakness. Weakness was not accepted in HYDRA. At all. No matter who you were or what you did for or against them. They would have broken him beyond repair over and over until he stopped showing a particular trait, stopped feeling fear or weakness, or until he didn't even have feelings at all.

It was awful, I could imagine. I _could_ imagine. In my time at SHIELD, I'd been captured over two dozen times. But only once by HYDRA. I was there only for a few months. Or at least that was what I was told. All the days kind of blurred together in my stay there. In fact I didn't really remember to anything from my capture at all... I never did. SHIELD blamed it on the stress from capture. My brain wasn't comprehending at the rate it normally would. I did remember the torture though. Bucky must have gone through so much more than I did. I felt horrible for him. I still had plaguing thoughts from my time of capture. I was there for months. Bucky was there for years.

Because of that, I assumed his mind was stuck in old habits. He still thought that if he showed to much emotion or weakness, he would be tortured and brought to his knees worse than before, regardless if he was bound by HYDRA or not. He was probably scared out of his mind. I knew I would be if the situation was reverse. I understood him just a little better now. Even if just a little.

I let the topic drop right that moment. If he wanted to talk about it, he'd say something. I wouldn't need to try and get it out of him. That was another thing I hated; people trying to pry into things that weren't any of their business. I was sure he felt the same way, and I didn't want to be like that. If he wanted to talk, I'd be here. If he didn't, I was fine with it. Whatever he wanted was what I wanted.

"Ring?" I asked after a prolonged period of silence. Bucky faced me now. My hopes rose a little as I saw he wasn't angry or even remorseful looking. That given, his eyes were a more guarded than before. Progress took time.

He didn't say anything. I knew I shouldn't have been surprised, but I was. He was doing so well for a period of time. I thought that maybe he would still speak to me in normality. But those few sentences obviously hit home for him. So many emotions, memories, and experiences must have been coursing through him. I understood, however I was disappointed, even if only slightly.

He motioned for me to go ahead and I did so. At least he could still respond to me, even if it wasn't through English. I lead him over to where the newer rings were, a little behind the punching bags and right next to the jogging path. The first two rings were taken, but the last one was open. The lights shone brightly over head as I ducked under the ropes and walked onto the floor. Tape lay in the corner nearest to me, and I decided it would be smart to wrap my hands. My knuckles were already splitting and starting to bleed from hitting without wrap.

I wrapped my hands as quickly as I possibly could. It wasn't as tight as I would have wanted it to be, but it would do. I pressed down the tape so it stuck to the ridges on my knuckles. Even though I didn't have my mouthguard, this was the best I was going to have. He probably wouldn't hit me in the face. Right? At least I hoped he wouldn't.

I turned around to see him in the center of the ring, stretching out his long arms, non mechanical and mechanical. He probably only stretched the latter because it seemed natural, not because he needed to. He had the right idea; I should stretch too.

Unlike him, I started off with my legs. My legs, both calves and thighs, were always sore. I didn't know why, neither did Clint or Natasha, but they both urged me to pay extra attention to them while I stretched and warmed up. I partially tore my hamstring five years ago because I didn't stretch before sprints. I never missed a session of stretching after that.

After my legs were warm and moveable, I started with my arms. After that my shoulders. Next my back. Then abdomen. All the way to my neck until I was entirely ready to fight. I glanced over to Bucky and saw he was still stretching, so I waited patiently for him to finish. I didn't want to rush him.

He stood up only a few moments later. I walked up to him from the opposing side of the ring so we were diagonal from one another. "What areas of fighting are you trained in?" He asked as he rolled his neck back and forth.

"Traditional Boxing, Kickboxing, MMA, Karate, Taekwondo, Jujitsu, and Gatka mainly. I've practiced in all areas of training though. I just enjoy those most. Fury almost had a cow when he heard I was practicing Gatka. It's really fun though if you ever want to learn." I replied after some thought.

"Why so many different forms of fighting?" He wondered aloud.

"Two reasons. One, I work at SHIELD. We're trained to know many different fighting forms. Two, I naturally fight offensively and defensively, so my trainers had to thread both offensive and defensive fighting styles into my training. So which one do you want to do? I'm up for any of them." I started to bounce on the balls of my feet, a very defensive habit.

"I've done some kickboxing before." He replied. Once again, he didn't want to make the decision.

"We could start with that then." I confirmed to him. I wasn't sure if he thought I wouldn't want to do it or what. He just seemed uncertain.

He agreed with me immediately. Starting out with a traditional fight form was probably the best. He probably didn't even know the first thing about half of the styles I'd talked about. Besides, I loved kickboxing.

We bumped knuckles in the center of the ring as a show of good sportsmanship. We then backed up until we were both at least a few yards away from one another. I started to dance around on the balls of my feet again, moving in slow circle around the ring. Bucky followed in suit. I kept my body tense and ready; back slightly curved forward, hands moving by my sides, knees bent and feet spread. Defensive position. It was usually how I started when kickboxing.

As we moved around each other, we started to inch closer and closer with each step. Closer until I was only a foot away from him, and he was only a foot away from me. I glanced into his eyes and mentally groaned; just from that look I could tell he wouldn't go easy. _Let's get ready to rumble_, I thought

True to my current defensive position, I let him throw the first punch. Hard and well aimed, right at my head. My arms automatically flew in front of my face to protect it from the shattering blow. Instead of a traditional boxing stance, my arms were positioned so they protected my face diagonally, cutting my face in half. It was a technique Clint taught me for a last second block. He told me the outsides of your arms are stronger than any other part, so it was actually the best option for any fight stance. Bucky's human hand flung down and hit the outside of my left arm hard, hard enough to leave a bruise. Nonetheless, my face, the primary point of concern, was fine.

He pulled back as soon as he realized his attack had failed. This time he tried a side kick for my ribs. I curved to the left so he couldn't make contact with me. Then I grabbed his leg roughly, making sure he couldn't move. I pulled back hard, in turn making his other leg fall out from under him. He fell to the ground with a thump. In normal circumstances, I would have climbed atop of him and beat the living daylights out of him. But that wasn't the purpose of this exercise. The purpose was to show the other partner your fighting style in a real situation. I backed off and let him stand.

As soon as he stood, I nodded and he nodded back, signaling we were both ready to fight. This time I stood in an offensive position, just to throw him off a little bit. I was straight and tall with my hands in front of my face in the traditional kickboxing stance. Instead of waiting for him to be ready, I jumped forward in a burst of speed and aimed for his face with my fist. Just in the nick of time, he threw up his metal arm in a block. I already felt the bruise forming on the side of my fist from where I'd hit him hard. I recoiled back just in time to miss his foot, which would have jabbed into my stomach.

This time I went for his ribs with my knee. I flung my leg in a semi-circular motion. My knee was stopped in place by both of his hands, occupying his only defense. I took the opportunity to hit him with my right elbow right in the diaphragm. He let out a big puff of air and something that sounded a groan before dropping my knee.

He wasn't done yet though. He ran towards me quickly and then jumped with his metallic elbow high in the air. I shoved up both of my hands to stop his oncoming attack, and forgot about his other hand in the process. He swung right into my ribs with his fist, but not before I could tighten my abs. My muscle absorbed a good part of the blow, but not enough. I fell to the ground at his feet. He backed away, giving me my space as I tried to breath again. It took me a minute, but I made my lungs breathe again, and I stood back up steadily. We nodded to each other and started again.

I started with an offensive position again, Bucky the same way. We didn't waste any time now. I lunged for him again, but my fist flew right past his head as he moved away quickly. In turn he tried to hit me with an uppercut to the jaw. I stopped his hand at my belly button, shoved him back, then used the outside part of my fist to hit him just below the throat so it wouldn't hurt him too badly. Still, I heard him huff as our skin connected. The fight was still on I realized as he straightened up.

He threw his knee up to me, right to my stomach. I twisted so I could block his knee with my knee. The force of his kick rippled through me, and gave me just enough strength to kick him with the heel of my foot in the chest. My other leg was still tangled with his, so we both fell down onto the mat in a great heap. I groaned as I detangled his leg from mine and stood back up shakily. I tried to remind myself that he was probably in more pain than I was at the moment. It didn't help.

We stood again. Nod, take your stance, fight. Even though I was sure it hadn't taken that long, it seemed like hours had passed just in our first brawls. Maybe it was because of all the bruises I'd already received. I reminded myself that he was bigger and stronger than me in all senses of the word. He even had a _bionic metal_ _arm_ of all things. Yes, sparring with him would be difficult.

I moved closer to him once more, and he closer to I. I let him throw the first strike; right now I was choosing to be defensive. He aimed a jab to my face, which I only partially received. Instead of hitting me in the face as he intended, he hit me straight in the throat, one of the weakest points in the body.

I internally gagged and I naturally stopped breathing. I couldn't stop now though. I had to work through the pain. Pain is temporary, and pride is forever.

This time, I didn't even bother with hitting him. I let him try to hit me. I already had a plan. He aimed at my face, ribs, kidney, anything that could possibly do substantial damage to me. I blocked all of his blows at least semi-easily, waiting for my opportunity to strike. And then he made his mistake. As he was coming in for another hit, he relieved pressure off of his left foot; not quite lifting it off of the ground, but not putting full weight on it either. I ducked, missing his throw by inches, then caught my leg in his and pulled back easily. His other leg crumpled underneath him and he fell onto his back, making the floor tremble as he did so.

I reached down and helped him stand, before remembering never to do that when fighting with someone, no matter who they were. Your partner would forgive you; it was only training after all, no hard feelings. Your enemy would miss an opportunity to hurt you if you stayed away from them. But stupid me, as always, forgot for a split second what Clint told me. He grabbed my hand and pulled me down onto the mat, slamming my hip harshly onto the ground.

I groaned into the fabric. I needed to focus more, or else my butt was going to be even more sore than it already was. I accepted Bucky's help without trickery this time; that really did hurt, and I was sure he felt awful doing that to me. At least I hoped he did. Actually, I hoped he still had that emotion in the first place. I sighed as I stood on my own two feet again. This was just the beginning.

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By the time we had finished sparring, a whole group of agents had gathered around the ring. Some were new young agents, probably told to come watch from their instructors, telling them to learn something from us. Some were experienced agents that I knew well. They were probably just tired of working out and wanted a break. In all truth and reality, no matter how many excuses they would try and make, they just couldn't resist a good fight. I couldn't blame them; neither did I, I just didn't like a really good fight when I was one of the fighters.

As time went on we learned some of each other's fighting movements; for kick boxing at least. It took years and years to fully learn the other partners moves and way they moved, but at least it was a start. Since we were pretty good fighters in the first place, we were able to give the people a show, and a good one at that. At our expense of course.

Both of us fell to the ground countless times. Both of us threw and received more blows than we cared to count. I knew for certain that bruises were already blooming on my body. Him though? I was just hoping some kind of a bruise or even a red mark would show up on him. But I was positive we were both in pain; I wasn't a weakling, he was just slightly stronger than me.

It was almost comical to see everyone leave after we called that part of our session good. They all looked sad and forlorn, like we had deprived them of some great privilege. I might have been denying them a show, but I was saving myself a trip to the doctors and maybe a few body parts.

He made sure to help me down out of the ring after we finished. Not just by grabbing my hand and making sure I didn't fall, but by actually picking me up off of the ground and gently setting me back down. I hoped maybe that act meant he would be better, at least by a little bit. I looked into his eyes and searched his face. To my dismay, he looked the same, like a shell.

"I'm sorry. I went harder than I should have on you in there. I hope I didn't hurt you to badly." He said after he took a long drink from his water bottle.

"Oh no, you didn't. I need to learn your fight style and you need to learn mine. We won't get anywhere by going easy on one another. And other than a few bruises, I'm all good. Nothing to worry about." I assured him.

"Your shoulder is okay?" He confirmed. For someone that wasn't supposed to have any feelings or thoughts of his own, he was very concerned and cautious.

"Yeah it's good. Just a little sore but that's to be expected. I'm used to it." I promised. Really it didn't hurt to awfully bad. Just a little sore and stiff.

"Where to partner?" I asked after a small pause.

He glanced at me questioningly. I forgot that he didn't remember how to make decisions. I was about to say something to help him out when he started talking.

"The walls?" He asked. I was actually surprised that he let himself make a decision on his own. Of course it was still a question, but he used his own judgement.

Because of that, I couldn't bear to tell him about my disliking of heights and everything that came with them. Even though I knew there was a safety net under a large portion of walls, my nerves still ran wild. Besides, I was sure we'd have to go there eventually. Might as well go now.

"Sounds great. Go ahead." I told him. I would have lead him to the warm up wall with double netting and safety ropes if he would have let me go first. Not only would it have been embarrassing, it would have been downright stupid.

But as we neared the end of the rock climbing course, which was actually made of real rock, l I tried to decide if letting him lead was even more stupid. The end of a course was always the hardest. This was no different. Instead of double safety nets or even a safety net, a nice hard slab of cement sat on the bottom of the wall. Not a single safety rope or harness was in sight, much less connected to the wall. This was a wall even I wasn't stupid enough to do. Death was imminent.

Apparently Bucky didn't care. You would have thought that because of the fact that he fell to his 'death' that he would hate heights. If he did, he was amazing at hiding it, and daring enough to tackle his fear head on. I didn't know if I was or not. This was pretty scary stuff.

As I sized up the wall he asked me if I wanted to go first. I told him that I'd go second, that I wanted to see his technique first. He didn't argue as he started on the wall. I wasn't sure if I was supposed to be more amazed or scared as I watched him scale the wall. Surely a large part of his ability was in his bionic arm, but still, the man was a monkey! Just when it seemed his hand touched the rock, he rocketed up and latched onto another set of rocks. He hardly even used his legs to push him up, just his arms and torso. He moved like a flash, and within a minute, he'd scaled a four story rock wall. I didn't even have time to figure out what he was doing!

He came down just as easily as he went up, not even looking down to see if he'd slip. Bucky was absolutely more confident than I was. He dropped to the ground beside me, looking pleased with himself. Who knows? It could have been a personal record.

"Your turn." He said as he moved out of my way. I gulped as I looked up to see the towering jumble of hand and footholds. I steadied my breathing as I took the first handhold of hard, rough, brown rock.

I carefully hoisted myself up off of the ground and into the air. The only thing stopping me from hitting the ground and hurting myself was my own strength. I just hoped it would hold. And that I wouldn't slip. That wouldn't be a good thing either.

I started the methodical pattern of climbing; looking for hand and footholds, grabbing them, pulling up and repeating. I wasn't actually climbing at a bad pace at the moment. Not slow, but not fast. Quickly enough that if I stayed at that same pace for the rest of the climb I'd be there in about five minutes.

I began to wonder why I was worrying in the first place. Of course, by this point I was at least a few stories off of the ground, but I hadn't messed up once, and I was over half way to the top. I was sure I'd be fine if I continued to pay attention to the corse in front of me.

By the time I was only a few yards from the top, I was worry free. Nothing could happen now. I was almost done, and then I'd be going closer to the ground. I was worrying myself for absolutely nothing.

I took another handhold on a rather small rock. As soon as my weight rested on my left arm arm, the whole rock formation snapped underneath me. I yelped out loud in surprise and pain. All of my body weight now rested on my injured right shoulder. My legs flailed around in the air and I groped desperately for another handhold.

"Ali!" Bucky yelled. I didn't dare look down to see him. My fingers would undoubtedly open and I'd fall.

My knees scraped against the rock as I tried to find a sturdy hold. At the same time I searched for a handhold. I looked to where my hand was before and saw that the entire wall was cracking. Starting at the first breaking point, and moving horizontally to where my last line of defense was; my right arm.

I was even more desperate now. I tried to calm myself down so I could think logically. It didn't work in the slightest. I couldn't stop the scream that came from my lips this time; I wasn't surprised now, I was just in pain and scared for my life. I could feel knives sticking into my shoulder and twisting with every movement I made, making me even more frantic.

Finally, by some miracle, my foot snagged on a slight indent in the wall. I jammed my foot into the crevasse and tested my weight gingerly. It wasn't entirely sturdy, but for now it would have to do. Keeping a death grip with my right hand, I continued to search for holds.

I was just about to put my hand on a small ledge and hoist myself up when I heard the wall start to split. It sounded like an earthquake, or a volcano erupting. The crack was only centimeters away from becoming a very serious problem. The crack kept growing, growing, growing, until it reached my hand. Just when I thought I was going to fall to my death, I was knocked to the side by an unseen force.

I released my grip on the rock and yelped once again. I knew I should have been falling...but I wasn't. I glanced over my left shoulder and saw Bucky, his mechanical arm digging into the rocks and the other wrapped securely around me. He looked half scared to death.

"You okay?" He asked. He wasn't even breathless. He climbed the entire wall once again in under a minute and he wasn't even breathing hard. It wasn't fair.

"Yeah I'm good." I replied. For the most part I was. We were out of danger for the moment at least. The cracking hadn't started forming yet on this part of the wall.

We both knew that we had to get out of there. This wasn't supposed to be happening. I'd watched Clint and Natasha do this wall countless times and nothing ever happened to them. Of course, the one time I finally got near the top of the wall it had to break.

"I'll go down first to make sure you don't fall. Follow my lead and we'll be down before the split reaches us." Bucky called over the racket of the breaking rock. I nodded to him in confirmation.

Bucky gingerly let go of me as I latched onto the wall, taking the place of where his hands used to be. He had already started down the wall, just as promised. I waited until he was a few feet under me before starting down myself.

For some reason I felt safer knowing Bucky was only a few feet under me. I knew he would catch me if I slipped. I knew he would. Regardless of if we just met today or not, I trusted him faster than I'd ever trusted anyone before.

In fact, the only person that even came close to him was Clint, and even then it took me a few weeks to realize that that scary SHIELD agent was actually just a teddy bear on the inside. Maybe it was because he'd already saved my life once, or maybe it was because of what happened to him at HYDRA. Either way, I still trusted him. Not entirely, it was far to early for that, but this was a great start. I just hoped he felt the same way.

He was right. I started following his lead immediately, and a minute or so later, we were on the ground. The split didn't touch us the entire way down. As soon as my feet touched the ground he grabbed my wrist with his metal hand and dragged me away from the wall quickly. I was confused as to what he was doing in the beginning, but then I heard a loud groaning and creaking noise come from above me. My head shot back and I looked to the rock structure.

The entire wall was collapsing on itself. Boulders flew down around the corse, wreaking havoc on anything to close. Dust already start to rise from the commotion made by the dramatic shifting in the thing fell to the ground at an impressive speed, pieces breaking off and rocketing through the air as the wall continued to tip. They fell down, down, down until..._boom_! If crashed onto the ground and shook the floor violently, like an earthquake. The sound itself sounded like a thousand mortars blowing up all at once on the Fourth of July.

The aftermath was impressive, however nothing compared to the show before. Rubble and dust rained down around us, but lucky Bucky dragged us too far away for any large pieces to hit us. A ginormous gap sat where the heap of rock used to in the wall. The ground around the catastrophe was smashed in, cracked, and caving. The entire thing was a mess.

I sat down slowly as I realized what just happened. Had Bucky not came up at helped me back down to the bottom, I would be like the ground. Smashed in. Trapped. Probably dead. Hundreds of tons of rock would have encased me, being my final tomb. He just saved me from my death.

Bucky sat down by me. He let out a big puff of air and ran a hand through his now messy and dusty hair. I was sure I didn't look much better. Personnel, staff, crew, and onlookers rushed to the sight of the broken wall, not even glancing at the two of us in the shadows of the corner of the room. But all Bucky was concerned about was me. I could feel his eyes dart to me after a moment of surveying the situation. He watched me carefully.

"You okay?" He asked again.

I looked over to him. He looked concerned, or as concerned as he could possibly be. Bucky looked just like he did on the wall, but now he looked more relieved than anything else. "Yeah I'm okay Bucky. My shoulder just hurts a little more now."

"Do you need to go down to medical?" He worried.

"No Bucky. I'm fine, I promise. Don't worry." I assured him. There was an awkward pause between us before I said the words I knew I needed to say the most. "Thank you."

Now it was his turn to look at me. He looked shocked, that much was clear. But deep down inside I could see this sort of _gratitude_ towards _me_, no matter how much he tried to mask it. I was sure SHIELD had ordered him to look out for me, so he only thought it was an order most likely, something that had to be carried out. He probably never had received any thanks from anyone for anything he'd done in the past seventy years. It was sad to say the least, but I was more than glad to give him my thanks.

But because of his lack of being told 'thanks', he didn't know how to respond like someone normally would. I didn't expect him to. But I could tell he was trying as hard as he could to express what he was feeling at the moment.

He struggled for a moment. "How about we take the rest of the day off?" A response I didn't really expect, but it wasn't a bad thing. Plus I was sure that's as close as he was to a 'your welcome.'

I let out a big breath of air just like he did, stirring up dust around us. "I couldn't agree more."

**So? How was it? Like it? Love it? Hate it? Please let me know! I love to hear from you guys! You make my day! Remember, constructive criticism is always welcomed as long as you don't bash me to hard!**

**I hope you all enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it! I should update sometime within the next week! Happy early Fourth of July for all of my fellow Americans! Love you all! Have a fantastic day! **

**Krisavengergurl**


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